


We Lead The Way: David Petraeus in Westeros

by Meshakhad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Arrows, Explosions, Gen, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5007574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meshakhad/pseuds/Meshakhad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General David Petraeus, US Army, wakes up in the body of a random soldier in the army of Lord Robert Baratheon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Lead The Way: David Petraeus in Westeros

**Author's Note:**

> Just for clarification, this is Petraeus from 2011 when he was still commanding US forces in Afghanistan. He has not heard of Game of Thrones at this point.

I met Lord Robert Baratheon on the third day.

I’d woken up in the squalid camp outside Storm’s End, just as I had done the previous two mornings. By now, I no longer thought this was some nightmare. Nightmares don’t usually feature you going to bed, having dreams inside of dreams, and waking up. This was real. I was here, in a place called the Stormlands. Just another peasant conscripted for the Baratheon army, which didn’t bode well for my survival chances. I’d seen enough casualty reports in Iraq and Afghanistan, and we’d had things like modern medicine, not to mention that we’d been an occupying army fighting guerillas. This was the army of a rebel lord. We would be facing armies as least as organized as our own.

The good news was that I wasn’t one of those poor sons of bitches who was going to stand in the front line with a pike. Instead, I was wearing padded armor and a leather helmet and holding a longbow as the Lord of Storm’s End trotted down the line on his horse. He was an impressive sight, built like a quarterback. He was clean shaven and clad in full plate armor, his chest emblazoned with the stag of House Baratheon. As he approached, I stood to attention, spine straight, feet together, not moving a muscle save for my eyes. Most of my fellow archers were alert, but they seemed more like onlookers at a parade rather than proper soldiers. Because they’re not proper soldiers, I thought. Most of the archers – including the prior owner of my new body - were just peasants who’d had some experience with bows. I probably had more military experience than half the army put together.

Either Baratheon noticed my stance, or fate wasn’t done picking on me. “What’s your name, man?” he asked, pointing at me.

“David, m’lord,” I replied, remembering to substitute “m’lord” for “sir”.

“Where are you from, David?” he asked. There was no menace in his voice. Perhaps the real purpose of this inspection was not for him to inspect us, but for us to inspect him. A feudal lord he might be, but he was smart enough to know that he was stronger if his men loved him. Unfortunately, I lacked most of my body’s memories. I knew he was a woodsman, and that his name had also been David (suspicious, that), but I wasn’t sure of much else. So I gave the only answer I could:

“The Stormlands, m’lord!”

Baratheon laughed, a deep, resonant laugh from his belly. Soon, everyone joined in.

“Good man, David of the Stormlands!” While his physique was that of Tom Brady, his eyes were more like Santa Claus. He gave me a nod, which I returned, and continued on.

When he’d passed out of earshot, a man behind me – Galen was his name – slapped me on the back. “David of the Stormlands!” he chuckled.

 

That night, I “requisitioned” a pen and parchment from the quartermaster. I needed to make sense of the situation. I’d spent a lot of time listening and asking “clarifying questions”. And when things got quiet, I could access some of the other David’s memories.

I was in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, although there were actually nine great lands within it and only one king. The political situation was complicated. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown prince, had abducted Lyanna Stark, daughter of Rickard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell (capital of the North). Lyanna had also been betrothed to our own Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End (capital of the Stormlands).

When Lord Stark and his eldest son, Brandon Stark, had gone to the capital of King’s Landing to demand that King Aerys hold his son accountable, King Aerys had killed them. Exactly how was unclear – there were many rumors – but from all accounts it wasn’t pleasant, and King Aerys was a crazed pyromaniac who most called “The Mad King”. Just to prove his paranoia, he had demanded the heads of both Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, Rickard Stark’s second son, who had been at the Eyrie (capital of the Vale) along with Baratheon himself. Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, had chosen rebellion.

At least three of the nine great houses – House Stark of the North, House Arryn of the Vale, and House Baratheon of the Stormlands – were arrayed against the king. There was a persistent rumor that House Tully of the Riverlands would join in due to a marital alliance. Two great houses – House Martell of Dorne and House Tyrell the Reach – had declared for King Aerys, as well as the Crownlands ruled directly by the Targaryen dynasty. Some of Lord Baratheon’s vassals had chosen to support the King, and we would probably be fighting them soon. Finally, the last two great houses – House Lannister of the Westerlands and House Greyjoy of the Iron Isles – were sitting on the sidelines. I figured they would probably back whoever was winning.

I started by listing the armies available to both sides:

Rebels: Stormlands (Baratheon), North (Stark), Vale (Arryn), Riverlands* (Tully)

Loyalists: Crownlands (Targaryen), Reach (Tyrell), Dorne (Martell)

Neutral: Westerlands (Lannister), Iron Isles (Greyjoy)

 

Then I listed what I had:

1 longbow (competent with)  
1 quiver of 30 arrows  
Padded armor  
Hand axe  
Knife  
7 copper stars  
15 pennies  
Body of a 17-year-old woodsman  
Knowledge and experience of a modern US Army general

It might be possible to simply fight for my own survival. But what would that mean? Surviving the war, going back to David’s village, chopping wood and hunting game for the next forty years or so. Not much of a life for a former general. And not when I thought I could do some good. So I would have to play this game of thrones.

At least I had one advantage: nobody knew who I was.


End file.
